My name is Lydia Martin, and I am hopelessly and irrevocably in love. I can only describe it as the kind of love "when you see him standing down the hall, and you cannot breathe until you're with him". Those are the words of my best friend, Allison Argent, who helped me see that opening my heart to such a love would make all the best things in life possible. I miss her so much. When she first used that phrase to describe how she felt about Scott McCall, I told her I didn't know what it felt like. Up until then, no one had ever made me feel that way. Rather, there was one person who gave me a glimpse of what it might be like, however I did everything humanly possible to ignore that spark. But thanks to the steadfast nature of that same incredible person, now I can say that I absolutely do relate to Allison's words and to their significance. The impossibly overwhelming, all-consuming love I have for him is the kind that quite literally opens portals in space and time. The kind that has brought me some of the worst, but far more of the best days of my life.
My love is Mieczyslaw Stilinski. Having trouble with that first name? Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, I know, but that name is synonymous with the purest, most amazing, and most important person in my life – so to me, it's beautiful and don't you dare say otherwise. In Polish, Mieczyslaw, means "sword" and "glory" and once you've read this, you will understand just how truly fitting that is. Still hung up on the pronunciation? Don't worry, we (that is…his family, friends, and I), we all call him Stiles…so that is how I'll refer to him from here on out.
I could tell you I knew from the minute I saw Stiles, that he was "the one", but it would be a lie. For someone with an IQ of 173, I will admit to being pretty stupid when it came to seeing and fully appreciating what was right in front of me. That just goes to show you, so-called intelligence only gets you so far. Basic human emotion and honesty, now those are what really matters when it comes to these things, and while Stiles has always had a knack for both, neither were part of my repertoire for a very long time…until Stiles woke me up.
In my defense, a substantial amount of loss, before I even turned double digits, may have been a serious contributing factor. By the age of eight, I had already lost three of the most important people in my life. First was my grandmother Lorraine, whom I lost to the misunderstood power of her own mind when I was just five years old. Then there was Stiles's mother, Claudia. When Stiles and I were eight years old, she was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia, a disease that stripped her of everything that made her the magnificent woman she was, rendered her fearful, paranoid, riddled with compulsion, and consequently broke the hearts of two of the best men I know, Stiles and his father Noah. Claudia helped me through one of the most difficult times in my life, and I felt her loss almost as deeply as they did. For us, the pain lingers within the walls of the Stilinski home. It's the quiet after a snowstorm; it's the stillness that blankets every magnificent thing about her with sadness and hides her presence from us with each passing day; just as the loss of Allison lingers in my heart and in Scott's. The third loss was not as unexpected as the former two. It occurred much more gradually, so I can't put an exact date to it, but I can tell you that it was my father. Even before the ink had dried on my parents' divorce papers, he had already let me down more times than I care to count. It was entirely his choice, and according to Stiles, this one was actually my father's loss, not mine. It sure as hell still hurt though.
In light of so much loss, an obvious mathematical expression presented itself to me: Open Heart = Open Wounds. Since I had already experienced more than my fair share of pain, I decided that the best way to protect myself from future torment would be to close my heart off. If I didn't let myself get attached to people, then I couldn't lose them…or so I thought. It was easier with some, but there were two major exceptions. First, there was Allison. Her parents' decision to move to Beacon Hills changed my life. Allison and I quickly became close friends, which was a completely new experience for me. While I was what people might call popular, most of my relationships were really just acquaintanceships. That was the plan though, right? If you don't get too close, you can't get hurt. But Allison was like a breath of fresh air. She was sweet, intelligent, capable, strong-willed, and fun to be around. We had a fair amount in common and our differences only enhanced the connection we developed. She was easy to talk to and never judged me. She looked deeper. For some reason, she wanted to know more about me than what everyone else thought they knew. Most of all, she wasn't expecting anything in return. She sincerely cared about me, who I was, what I wanted out of life…which was also a pleasant change. She was open and honest as well, and apparently, those qualities are contagious. As a result, I began to drop some of my defenses without even intending to do so. That's when it all started – Allison was the catalyst. Our connection changed me. Her friendship left a permanent mark on my soul and cracked open the doorway to my carefully imprisoned heart. The other consequential effect of our bond – Allison was head-over-heels for Scott McCall and Scott has a best friend, which brings me to the second exception. Stiles.
The more time I spent with Allison…who spent a great deal of time with Scott (see where this is going?), the more time I spent with Stiles – and Stiles is one-of-a-kind. It was impossible to be completely oblivious to his charms…and there are many. He made it difficult for me to keep my distance; he weakened my resolve with his limitless displays of understanding, affection, intelligence, and wit. Then there's that face of his, which literally melts my heart every single time I look at him…and those eyes! Can we talk about his eyes for a minute? I know most people have a weakness for blue eyes. I also know that Stiles would completely disagree with the majority, insisting that green eyes are superior. And while I can certainly understand the appeal of both colors, for me, brown eyes, specifically his brown eyes, are the most beautiful. They are deep, and warm, and impossibly expressive…and when light, especially sunlight, hits them in just the right way, these incredible flecks of gold appear from within his irises like buried treasure. I could go on, but let me get to my point, which was that Stiles did not make pushing him away very easy for me.
Over the years, he more or less killed the part of me that was determined to stay closed-off with kindness and compassion. Any and every time I needed someone to lean on, even when I thought I didn't, he was there. He paid attention, he listened, he remembered. His adorably awkward tendencies and sweet soul tempted me over and over again to just give in to him, to let myself feel all the things I had been refusing. There were moments when I let my defenses slip, like the time I held his hand when we went ice skating with Allison and Scott, or the few times I let myself cry on his shoulder. But for the most part, and much to my shame, I kept him at arm's length, which consequently caused immeasurable heartbreak for us both.
You see, there was a major flaw in the supposedly perfect formula for self-preservation that I developed (no Fields Medal for this one, I promise you). I had completely omitted two detrimental factors from the equation:
1) Pushing people away does not prevent you from grieving their absence. (In fact, it makes you grieve more intensely.)
2) I never needed to be protected from Stiles. (He would never hurt me. Ever.)
Had I accounted for those factors, I could have spared us both a great deal of pain. Instead, I remained silent when I should have spoken, I pulled away from Stiles when I should have leaned on him, I got distant, I got jealous, I misunderstood, all in all – I made a mess.
Thankfully, Stiles has always been better at dealing with matters of the heart. What I lacked in that area, he more than made up for. While few children are as astute as he was at eight years old, he knew that we were meant to be. He can even pinpoint exactly when he figured it out. It was his first day back to school after Claudia died. I saw him sitting alone and went over to talk to him. I'm sure I didn't say anything remarkable. Truthfully, I didn't know what to say. There's really nothing you can say at a time like that. All I knew was that I wanted to him feel better…even just for a minute, because even then, seeing him in pain did something to me - it made me hurt too. If you were to ask him, Stiles would tell you that the words I said were the perfect ones. Ask him, and he would gladly tell you that he knew, from that day on the playground, that he loved me and always would. He reminds me of his incredible insight frequently, but I know he is not trying to make me feel guilty for taking so long to reach the same conclusion, or for taking an even longer time to admit my feelings. He knows why I held back, and for my part, Stiles can bring up his revelation as often as he likes…because whenever he mentions that day to me, it reminds me of the most important part of the story – and then, I can't help but smile. The most important part of the story is that he has loved me all this time, and for that, I consider myself to be the luckiest girl in the world. Even when I made it impossibly difficult for Stiles, he never lost faith in us. (I told you, he is amazing.) That faith, which happens to be anchored in the unfathomable patience he has with me, that faith is what made every good thing in my life possible.
His perceptiveness extends beyond recognizing that he was in love with me at such a young age and from such a simple, yet heartfelt, exchange. Stiles also possesses the unique ability to understand me; usually better than I understand myself. So, while I was trapped in a loop of self-imposed denial and resistance, Stiles was trying to help me see the infinite possibility of us being together by telling me that he loved me, in ways that I would be receptive to it. He knew me well enough to recognize when I wasn't ready to hear those three words – so he showed me instead. His remarkable intuition also made it possible for him to distinguish the exact moment when I was ready to hear them. And every single time, the way he chose to express his love managed to astonish me. Because for as much as I know about him, I didn't always know this: Stiles's love has a quiet voice. But if you are ready to listen, you will hear it loud and clear. That brings me to the next part of the story, the five times Stiles told me he loved me without ever uttering the words.